


Let's Go, Yes, No, Hell No

by kissesfromkrug



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11022420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: Mitch beams back at him — when is he not smiling? — and Auston's chest tightens painfully.If only he could speak up.





	Let's Go, Yes, No, Hell No

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> Title taken from "Lone Digger" by Caravan Palace.
> 
> Honestly, I should've just called this "Un-" 'cause of all the tags. Hopefully it doesn't give too much away.

"Come  _on_ , asshole, don't be like that," Mitch whines, his smirk lessening the effect. He reaches over and smacks Auston's hands quickly, and just like that, Mitch slides the virtual puck five-hole past Auston's goaltender. 

" _I'm_ the asshole, you filthy cheater?" Auston protests. 

"It's not cheating, it's called outsmarting the system."

"If by 'the system' you mean me, you most certainly did nothing involving a brain," Auston shoots back. "Shut up and play fair." Mitch settles into the couch, still wearing a proud grin. Auston wants to kiss it off his adorable face—no no  _no_ , he'd much rather wrestle and get Mitch pinned on his face so he wouldn't have to see that smile.

Yeah, that's it. 

Soon enough, Mitch gets up to use the bathroom, and after a few seconds of deliberation, Auston pulls out his phone. 

 _Pls help_ , he texts Willy, biting his lip as the three typing dots appear almost immediately. 

_i stg if this is abt marns again_

_I STG, MATTS !!_

_Shut up_

_u came 2 me, bro_

_I'll come at u if u don't listen_

_i never listen y do u txt me_

_Cuz maybe I have faith that one day u will??_

_It's called trust???_

_fat chance_

_i havent been helpful 4 like 6 months_

_which means u been whining about ur pathetic feelings 4 like 6 months_

_jesus fuck aus ur screwed_

_U haven't stopped me_

_And it wasn't whining and I'm not pathetic_

_u should legit just ask_

_Ask what?_

_if hes straight_

_which, prolly not_

_but yea_

_ask him ;)))_  Auston presses his lips together tightly, staring down at his phone.

_duuuuude_

_u cant ask ME abt his feelings_

_idfk whats in his weird ass brain_

_U can't just ASK that tho!!!_

_y not? ;)_

_worked 4 me_

_But uve got a pretty European face and stuff_

_u mean i kinda look euro or im pretty??_

_Both?? Idk_

_awwww Matts ur pretty too <3_

_Stop it_

_hey, take the fuckin compliment and get ur man_

_He's not my man_

_THEN FUCKIN DO SOMETHING ABOUT THAT_

_:) :) :) :) :) :)_

Auston is still staring at Willy's string of smiley faces when Mitch returns. 

"Ooh, who you texting?" He grins, hopping over the couch. "Someone's got a secret, eh?" Auston shoves his phone back in the pocket of his sweatpants, but Mitch is already on him.

"No I don't, fuck off," Auston says while trying to push Mitch off and failing to suppress a smile. It's not too hard to press a skinny Mitch down into the carpet, not much heavy breathing required to subdue him. After all, Auston's 40 pounds and three inches that he has on Mitch won't go to waste, especially in this situation. 

"So. Who is it?" He asks after staring up at Auston for several uncomfortable seconds. 

"It's just Willy, you moron, no one special."

"I don't think Willy the Swedish Model would like to hear you talking about him like that," Mitch chides, " _No one special_ , wow, what a way to talk to your second best friend!" He sticks out his lower lip in his best begging face to get Auston to let him go. As always, it works like a charm; Auston's always been a sucker for that face—for Mitch's face in general, now that he thinks about it.

 _Fuck_. 

"If he wanted to be a fucking model he'd have already gone out and done it already."

"Done what?"

"Whatever, never mind, it's-it's whatever," Auston says dismissively, waving his arms around as he thinks of the right words to continue onto a new topic. Mitch grins as he watches Auston pretty much flail around, sitting a few feet away on the carpet. Auston drops his hands to the ground as an awkward embarrassment falls over him. 

Well. At least Mitch has a cute smile. 

"You're so dumb." Mitch says it with such fondness that Auston doesn't take him seriously for a second. 

• • •

Mitch is cuddled up to his side as their plane cruises smoothly at 35,000 feet through the cloudless sky. Auston firmly ignores the heat of Mitch's entire body pressed up against his side, armrest be damned, head on Auston's solid shoulder. He honest to god _giggles_ like a kindergartener at something in the movie they're watching, and Auston bites his upper lip and sighs through his nose. 

"Alright over there?" Mitch asks, looking up at Auston through his eyelashes, not willing to move more than an inch or two. 

"Yeah, just tired." Mitch, strangely enough, immediately sits up. Auston cusses himself out inside his head. 

"Want me to let you sleep?"

"I mean, you're fine there, but like—it's whatever, man, I don't care, do whatever." _Elegant as fuck, you are_ , Auston thinks to himself. Mitch leans his head on the cold window and stares at the stark outlines of dirt roads below them connecting unknown towns and cities. "I mean—" He cuts himself off as Mitch glances at him, giving him a soft smile. 

Okay. They're okay. Auston is _fine_. 

Five minutes pass, and although Auston can actually hear everything that's happening in the movie, he's not impressed. Sure, the movie's fine, but Mitch is almost a whole foot away from him, lonely and quiet and weird and not sharing Auston's headphones with him. 

"You okay?" Auston kicks Mitch's ankle just this side of painful, and he winces and shrugs. 

"Feeling unloved, but otherwise peachy." Auston studies his face for a moment until Mitch cracks a smile, and that answers _that_ question.

"You can still—" Auston chokes as Mitch raises an amused eyebrow, opening his mouth for a chirp. "You can still use me as a pillow, headrest, whatever I am." 

"A pillowy rest for my delicate head," Mitch says, butchering an English accent, which really isn't hard to get right. 

"Good thing you're stuck in Canada with us, the Brits probably wouldn't even let you into their _airport_."

"Shut up, I have, like, the _best_ accent," Mitch announces loudly. "Don't I, Willy?"

Auston refuses to turn around, knowing the obvious and exaggerated faces Willy would make at him, still hearing Willy answer, " _God_ , no, you even suck at your _own_ accent."

"But that's not even _possible—_ how does my accent suck, Euro boy?"

Auston tunes out their pointless argument and turns the volume up on his headphones when Kappy joins the discussion. 

"Aus, Auston, hey, you can verify this—isn't my singing voice awesome?" Mitch asks, shaking Auston's shoulder. He gives Mitch a bored look but removes one earphone. 

"You kinda suck, but at least you like it, you know? At least you tried."

"Hey! When we were on the bench and—"

"Bon Jovi saw us, yeah, I know, I remember," Auston finishes. "You weren't too great." He glances back at Willy, who's making some kind of obscene gesture. He flips Willy off and readjusts the angle of his seat backwards.

"Get off, you fuck!" Willy laughs, shoving at the back of Auston's chair. "Move!"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Auston replies calmly, finally giving up on his movie and putting away the tablet.

Mitch lets out a light laugh, loud but airy, and Auston flicks his eyes upwards to meet Mitch's startlingly blue ones. Well, right _now_ they're not startling him, just—they're always _so fucking blue_ Auston could drown in them. He wishes that Mitch would never stop staring at him like that, something resembling pure adoration and—hell, maybe even _love_ —shining brightly in those ocean-colored orbs. 

Wow. That sounded stupid and sappy and weird. Who even _says_ orbs? 

"Aus? You alive?" Mitch pinches his thigh, and Auston jerks out of his comfortable daze and nods. 

"Just—"

"Tired?" Mitch interrupts, and Auston bobs his head again. Mitch shifts in his seat, legs stretched over Auston's lap and feet dangling in the aisle. 

"Move your ridiculous clown feet, Marns," Freddy grins as he pushes past them to go talk to Brownie, which—why did they not just sit next to each other in the first place?

Auston fixes his seat so he's not practically laying in Willy's lap, sending Mitch one last look as he plugs his earphones into his smartphone and makes plans to spend the rest of the flight napping with soothing music. Mitch beams back at him—when is he _not_ smiling?—and Auston's chest tightens painfully. 

If only he could speak up. 

• • •

"We gone and done it, boys!" Mitch shouts as he skips into the locker room following a post-game interview. "We _done_ it!"

"We gone get you some grammar lessons for your birthday, too," Willy calls out, and Kappy smacks him upside the head. Auston laughs, and Mitch manages to look offended for a grand total of two seconds.

"Guys," Mo announces, and the room goes quiet except for Gards murmuring something about "shut up, Dad's talking". 

" _You_ shut up," Kappy shoots back easily. Gards sends him a friendly glare, and Auston admittedly zones out a bit as Mitch falls into the stall next to him, sweaty and happy and _gorgeous_. Wait.

"So fucking proud of you," Auston whispers to Mitch yet again, whose smile now threatens to put the sun out of business. He tosses an arm over Mitch's shoulders, ruffling his hair with the other hand. 

"Thanks." Auston beams right back at him, and there's a cough from the other end of the locker room. Willy's staring at them intently, and he makes a weird face when Auston looks up. 

"Weirdo," he mouths, and Willy puts a hand to his chest and puts on his best confused look. "Shut up." Mitch rests a gloved hand on Auston's knee, and although there's about three layers between his skin and Mitch's, his heart begins to race as he thinks of the possibilities. A cheer goes up from the group at something Mo says, and Auston's a little late on the uptake. Everyone laughs, and he grins sheepishly.

"Such a dork," Mitch says, squeezing Auston's knee before tossing his gloves to the ground in front of him and leaning forward to listen to Mo. 

"Whoops."

"You're so weird."

"You love me," Auston says without thinking, eyes immediately shifting to the floor in front of him. Mitch doesn't answer, but when Auston gathers up the courage to cast a cautious glance at him, he's still smiling.

"Two fucking goals!" Mo exclaims happily, and Auston knows it's about him. "You fuckin' crushed 'em out there, Matts—and Freddy? 100? Con-fucking-gratulations!" The goaltender salutes him and his honest praise of every single one of them, and Auston wants to slap a C on his chest as soon as he sits down and lets Babs do some talking.

"Seven, boys!" He says with a grin, and another whooping cheer, this time mixed with extra profanity, goes up from the entire team. " _Seven_." Mitch leans back into his stall, left ankle resting on his right knee as he puts his hands behind his head.

"'Cause you did it all," Auston teases quietly.

"Couldn't have done it without me," he replies easily, flashing him a wink. Auston takes the time to study his almost girl-like eyelashes that match so well with his eyes—fuck, those  _eyes_. Auston thinks his Mitch-eye obsession may or may not be getting a little unhealthy. 

After Babs congratulates and compliments his wonderful team, he points out some flaws—of  _course_ he does, nothing they do is perfect. No game can be completely perfect, even the rookies like himself understand. After he sends them off to the showers, Mitch slips his #16 over his shoulders, tossing it into the bin and leaning over to unlace his skates. 

"Yo. Aus." Auston blinks a few times, moving his gaze from Mitch's deft hands to his amused face. "You never seen my hands before or something?" Auston suppresses the urge to say,  _Actually, no, I haven't, not in this way._

"Shut up, I'm just zoning out."

"Thinking about what?" Auston shrugs, pulling off and tossing his own jersey in the direction of the bin.

"Not much." Mitch grins even wider—good thing smiling looks good on him, he can't stop doing it—and rips the tape off his socks and slowly balls it up. When he finally breaks their intense eye contact, Auston lets out a barely audible sigh and focuses on stripping.

Who knew boys could look pretty?

• • •

It happens one night at Carolina, one of the places that doesn't really scream  _hockey town_ because of its location and reputation. When people think of hockey, they think of Canada, Minnesota, and sometimes New England and a few surrounding states. Most Southerners are more interested in the beach or NASCAR, anyway.

It's a shutout win, with Gards getting three points and the first star while Auston himself collects a goal to add to his mounting total. Mitch was scratched for the game, but he's still pumped about their win, if a tiny bit bitter. "We should totally raid the minibar," Gards suggests as he rides up in the elevator with Mitch, Brownie, Auston, Naz, Zach, and JVR. Who even _knows_ how they managed to fit seven fully-grown men into the elevator—well, _almost_ fully-grown. (Ahem,  _Mitch_ , grow up already, you look like an overeager high-schooler who's always excited about writing those long-ass essays—besides, you're a string bean next to pretty much anyone else on the ice except a rookie Pastrnak.)

"Sounds irresponsible," JVR laughs, and Brownie grins. 

"Says the old man."

"Hey, bud, you're old to the rookies, so I wouldn't be talking." Mitch smirks at Brownie, who mutters a couple profanities.

"What did you just call me?" Everyone's tipsy enough that it took the edge off, but no one's drunk enough to do anything really stupid yet. _Yet._  JVR steps between the two as the elevator dings and the door opens.

"Get out, you hooligans." Smiles abound, and as everyone splits off to their rooms, Auston nervously cracks his knuckles as he waits for Mitch to unlock the door.

"Do you have no fine motor skills at all?" He sighs, hip-checking Mitch to the side and sliding the key in the slot. The light flashes green, and he opens the door for his even gigglier-than ever friend and roommate.

"I've got a fine motor on me, alright," Mitch answers, sticking out his tongue and flopping back onto his bed. Auston rolls his eyes and reaches for the room service menu, realizing a bit too late that they're not in Canada, they can't drink alcohol.

"We should get Marty or Zach to buy us some drinks," he says, looking over the drink options. America and its drinking rules can fuck themselves right about now.

"I don't need a drink when I got you!" Auston jerks his head around, seeing Mitch reach out for him and wiggle his fingers. "Come here, Ajuice, I want cuddles!" Auston hesitantly put down the menu, only now realizing that Mitch was truly drunk.

"Such a lightweight," he teases, crawling onto the bed next to him. Mitch doesn't answer, his octopus-like limbs wrapping around Auston as he nuzzles into the collar of Auston's light purple dress shirt.

"'M tired," he mumbles, the sound muffled, and Auston shudders at the vibrations.

"Can I—"

"Don't move, I'll get cold."

"You're Canadian."

"'M not weather-proof," Mitch says, the words slurred, and that's probably the biggest word he's ever said while drunk. Auston shifts so he's chest-to-chest with Mitch, arms still curled around his torso and their legs tangled together. Auston doesn't really know quite what to make of it, except that Mitch is  _really_ warm and easy and he could just kiss the lips he's been staring at for months. And not just staring, either... 

If you think Auston is mature enough to refrain from jerking off to a mental image of a teammate on their knees, well—Auston's still a teenager, and he doesn't give a fuck. The dreams don't exactly help, either.

"Mitch, I—"

"Don't leave me!" Mitch whines, squeezing Auston tighter. He's often thought about where all Mitch's strength comes from, wondering if he could figure it out himself with some well-placed touches and— "Don't leave!"

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," Auston reassures him, hand rubbing his back as Mitch scoots a few inches down the bed to press his nose into Auston's chest. The cold tip brushes the bare skin above the third button, where Auston's undone his shirt a little more than usual. He shivers and looks down at Mitch, heart filled nearly to bursting with adoration for his  _fucking adorable_ best friend.

"Aus..."

"Mitch," he says back, and when Mitch just makes a small sound, he continues, "I wanna try something."

"I want—I want my asleep." _Such intelligence_ , Auston thinks amusedly to himself. He's going to have to write down some of Mitch's more entertaining drunk jibber-jabber.

"Can I?" Mitch looks up at him, blue eyes half-lidded and mouth parting in a yawn.

"Can you what?" He licks his lips and smiles up at Auston, who has had quite enough.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." Auston ducks his head before he can rethink his choices, lips firmly planted on Mitch's. He only has a second—it feels like an hour—to savor the taste of vodka on Mitch's lips (thanks, Sosh) before Mitch shoves at Auston's chest and scrambles away.

"Please fucking stop," he pants, all signs of sleep vanished from his face. Auston has never seen him look so scared in his life. "What the fuck, Auston?"

"I just thought—" Auston sits up and brings his knees to his chest. "I thought you...felt, um..." It feels like there's a vice around his lungs, slowly choking the life out of him, his heart stuttering unnaturally.

"You thought I liked you like that?" Mitch asks, and Auston nods slightly, looking towards the door to their room. It takes only 15 or so feet to get out, to get away from his awful mistake. "Shit, Auston, I had no idea—"

"It's fine, whatever, I fucked up, I'm sorry," Auston babbles, "I'm so sorry, I just thought that—that with everything you did that you—you loved me and I was so happy and—" Mitch watches him, expression morphing from disgust and horror to guilt and pity.

"My god, Aus, I—" He shakes his head to try to clear the alcohol from his brain for long enough to have a rational conversation. "I-I never noticed."

"You touch and talk and make those faces and mess around and I just thought I was different and I didn't even consider that it's just your personality and— _fuck_ , I wanna go die, oh my  _god_!"

"Auston, please, we can talk about this—"

"No we can't, no, nope." Auston slides off the bed in one smooth movement, ignoring Mitch's pleas for him to stay as he bolts out of the room and knocks on the door across the hall, not even sure whose room it is.

"Matts?" Mo asks confusedly, looking over his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Can I stay with you tonight? I just—I'll take the couch or something—the fucking _floor_ , even, I don't give a fuck—" Mo opens the door wider, allowing Auston to step in.

"I have an extra bed, you know," he says, and Auston kicks off his shoes, stripping down to his underwear before crawling under the covers. "You wanna...talk about anything?"

"No."

"Sure?" Auston doesn't reply, burrowing deeper into the blankets, and Mo sighs. "G'night, bud. See ya in the morning."

"Night." As Mo steps in the shower, Auston tries to muffle a sob into the pillow. 

 _God_ , he's a fucking idiot.

**Author's Note:**

> Unedited as of now, but I'll be on it asap.


End file.
